She remained beside me, her fingertips resting on the paper. “Do you think about tying me up?”
I cut the first sheet of fabric. “Yes.”
“But you haven’t.”
“I figured we would take things slow…since you’re new to all of this.” I’d never considered myself to be a patient man, but when it came to Muse, my entire agenda was based on her timetable.
She took the line of fabric and held it in her fingertips. “What’s this go to?”
“The first strap.”
“I’d like to help, Conway. I may have no experience with clothes, but I’m a fast learner.”
The more time I spent with her, the more I understood her personality. She liked to be active, to do things constantly rather than sit around all day. My father was the exact same way, and she reminded me of him. She reminded me of my mother too. But with my mom, she’d always been a full-time parent to us. That was her job as well as her hobby. “Alright. Here’s the measurement.” I pushed the measurement table toward her. “Cut it to this precise size.”
“Okay.”
I turned back to what I was doing, and every time I finished one part, I handed it off to her for the next step. I was surprised she did it correctly, and I realized it cut my time in half. It was like having a second pair of hands. The idea of my fantasy making her own lingerie was arousing as well.
Once we had all the pieces together, we were ready for the next part.
“How do you put it together?”
“Stitching.”
We used my mannequin to pull everything together. She held the pieces in place as I worked, while still wearing the soft robe. It was black and white, a simple pattern that didn’t distract from her beauty.
My eyes were focused on my fingertips, watching every move I made. My fingertips were callused from years of doing this. Even if I pricked myself, I didn’t bleed anymore.
Muse held the pieces together as I worked, standing directly beside me. “I like the way your face looks when you’re working.”
I didn’t let her words interrupt me. “And how does my face look?”
“Serious. Focused. Hard.”
I pulled the thread through the fabric and kept working.
“It’s the same expression you wear in bed…with a few slight changes. I’d always wondered if that was the expression you wore when you were with a woman.”
My hands halted once her words sank into my skin. “I used to imagine the face you made when you came. I would beat off to it in the shower. But now I know what your expression looks like…because you’re the woman I take to bed every night.” I started to move my hands again, and I finished the breast piece as well as the first strap.
Her cheeks were full of color.
I moved to the next strap, and she secured it in place.
“Why won’t you let me sleep with you?”
My needle pierced through at the corner and then moved quickly. “I prefer to sleep alone.”
“Even if you’re with someone else?”
“All of my relationships are handled like business transactions. I get what I want, and then it’s over. No reason for it to roll over into a new day.”
“And they’re just fine with that?”
“They’re grateful to have any part of me at all.”
She scoffed under her breath.
I stopped what I was doing and looked at her.
The corner of her mouth was raised in a smile. “Sorry…that’s just the most arrogant thing I’ve heard you say.”
I ignored her insult and returned to concentrating. “I’m sure I’ll top it.”
“What if I wanted to sleep with you? You know, instead of being kicked out.”
“I didn’t kick you out.”
“You kicked me out nicely,” she said. “Even though I was pretty much asleep.”
“I don’t like to sleep with people. I like having the bed all to myself. I like not listening to someone breathe beside me. I like to be alone. It’s just how I am.”
“Sounds lonely…”
“Not at all.” I tightened the thread and secured the pieces together.
“And you wouldn’t make an exception for me?”
“I already did,” I reminded her.
“But again?”
“No. Probably not.” The upper left side of the lingerie was complete. Now I needed to work on the right side.
“Does that mean you don’t want to have a family someday?”
This time, I pinned the pieces against the mannequin so I wouldn’t need her assistance anymore. “Why are you interrogating me?”
“I’m not. Just asking you a few questions.”
“It feels like an interrogation.”
“An interrogation is when someone forces you to answer questions you don’t want to.”
“Exactly.” I pulled her hand away from the mannequin. “I can take it from here. Go sit down.”
She stepped back, the hurt written on her face. “Is it that horrible that I want to know the man I’m sleeping with? I’m the closest person to you in the world. I’m your confidant, your inspiration. And I’d like to be your friend. Let me be your friend, Conway.”